


The Christmas Light in the Darkness

by jessiecrimefighter



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Christmas, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Trigger warnings for depression/grief/PTSD/extreme guilt, lots of fluff, lots of references to British things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 01:03:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5477306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessiecrimefighter/pseuds/jessiecrimefighter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 3x10. Fitz tries to help Jemma recover from trauma and grief by persuading her to help him and Hunter plan a traditional British Christmas on the base.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notabadday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notabadday/gifts), [everyl1ttleth1ng](https://archiveofourown.org/users/everyl1ttleth1ng/gifts).



> So I know that you're all overdue an update on Lab Rats, and I'm sorry, I am working on that, but I've been struggling with it due to illness and the stress of trying to get my dissertation finished. I've also been trying to get ready for Christmas, even though I haven't been feeling Christmassy at all, so I wrote this in order to make myself feel better - and it worked, although it turned into a much longer thing than I had anticipated! To be honest, it reads more like a one-act play, than a one-shot! Anyway, I'm offering this as a Christmas present to all Fitzsimmons fans, but particularly to @notabadday and @everyl1ttleth1ng, whose Christmas fics have really been cheering me up. Also, @notabadday? I've thrown in a 'Fairytale of New York' reference for you, as well as a West Wing 'Noel' reference ;-)
> 
> It occurred to me after writing this that I made a lot of references to very traditional British things in it, and I don't know how familiar non-British readers will be with these things, so I've actually made a glossary, and if people want, I'll post it as a separate chapter! Let me know if you'd like some of the references explained.

The familiar knock on the door punctuated the silence of the room, chasing away the demons that haunted her thoughts when she was alone. She allowed herself a little smile in response to the reassuring series of raps. Any other plain old knock would have caused a certain amount of anxiety at the present time. She was still finding conversation with most people a bit of an effort, but Fitz’s own secret knock that he had insisted on inventing back at the Academy (when he worried about her safety in her dorm at night and didn’t like the idea of her opening her door to some much older drunken letch) was almost as comforting as a hug. She pushed herself up into a sitting position on the bed, and tugged the chunky grey cardigan he had lent her tighter around herself. “Come in,” she called, her voice croaky from lack of use.

The door opened and the man himself came into the room, carrying two large shopping bags and wearing a coat that smelled of cold air. He was, at the same time, a source of radiant warmth and a refreshing blast of oxygen that she wanted to inhale until her lungs hurt. She leaned towards him in the hope of breathing him in until she remembered that she was a pollutant, and she would make his air toxic. She shrank back down into herself in an attempt to keep her dark from bleeding into his light. He exuded a sense of purpose however, and she suspected that she wasn’t going to be allowed to feel sorry for herself for too much longer that day.

"What's all that?" she asked warily, as he dropped the bags he was carrying on the ground and began taking off his coat. Throwing it over the back of her chair, he started pulling things out of the bags - brightly coloured, sparkly, clinking things that hurt her head with their blunt gaiety.

"Christmas decorations," he replied, waving a box of Christmas tree lights at her. "We're going to put some up in your room."

Jemma's nervous system was too used to the quiet and dim light that she found solace in these days, and her very skin was reacting to the thought of such jangly brightness surrounding her. She shook her head in protest. "Oh no, Fitz, I..."

He held up his hand to stop her. "I know," he said gently. "I know that you couldn't care less about Christmas this year, Jemma. I know it's the very last thing that you're in the mood for. I mean, we've only just got you showering and eating food again and leaving your room for a little while every day. But this isn't for you. It's for your mum and dad."

Jemma stared at him in bewilderment. "My mum and dad....?"

"Yes," he replied. "You know as well as I do that they're going to be Skyping you on Christmas Day. They've been worried sick about you. I mean, they didn't hear from you for six months and I had to keep making excuses about how you were on a top secret assignment in Antarctica, while I tried to figure out what the hell happened to you. And by the way,” he added quickly with a dismissive wave of his hand, “if they got the impression that it had something to do with Captain America, that was their own conclusion that they jumped to and nothing to do with me. So if they ask, you may or may not be working on re-creating Howard Stark's super-serum." Jemma's jaw dropped and Fitz shrugged apologetically. "Anyway, they've been calling me again since Maveth,” he went on, “saying that they haven't heard from you in weeks and I've had to make up more excuses, but I told them that you'd be back on the base for Christmas."

Jemma sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Okay," she replied wearily. "Thank you, Fitz. But why do we need Christmas decorations?"

"So they can see them in the camera," Fitz replied. "So that they can think that their daughter is safe and happy and enjoying a nice Christmas, and not cooped up in her room recovering from trauma and grief and devastating - if unnecessary - guilt. Hunter has even managed to find a website that sells traditional British Christmas crackers, and he’s ordered some, so that we can pull them and wear the hats when your parents Skype you."

"Christmas crackers and hats?! Do we need to go to such extremes?" Jemma asked in exasperation. "Won't a few lights be enough?"

"Christmas cracker hats are the archetypal image of a British Christmas, Jemma," Fitz said in a mock-serious tone. "To the British mind, these colourful paper crowns are symbolic of a person who has feasted and perhaps imbibed a little too much and is generally full of festive cheer. They will be a very reassuring image for your mum and dad to encounter on Christmas Day."

"Wow," Jemma replied, raising her eyebrows in astonishment. "You and Hunter have really thought about this, haven't you?"

"Yes, we have," he replied. "And you don't have to do a thing, just sit back and relax. I'm going to hang these up for you,'" he went on, rolling up his sleeves. Jemma watched him, her eyes filling up again - which seemed to be their default setting these days.

"Thank you, Fitz," she said quietly. "This is so very thoughtful and kind of you." She took a deep, shuddering breath. "I don't deserve..."

"Jemma, stop," he interjected in a firm voice. "Stop that right now. I told you, I don't want to hear that again. That's not you, that's your guilt talking. That's the depression and the grief and the PTSD. You have been absolutely through the ringer, not just this year, but over the past couple of years, and you need time to heal before you can go around making declarative statements about what is and is not your fault and what you do and do not deserve. I mean, even a few weeks ago you were scoffing at me talking about us being cursed, and now all of a sudden you've decided that _you're the curse?!_ I still can't believe you said that,” he said, shaking his head as if to emphasize said disbelief. “The Jemma Simmons I know wouldn't entertain the idea for even a fraction of a second."

Jemma ground her jaw and said nothing. Fitz knew he still wasn't getting through to her, but he knew better than to get frustrated. He had been down in this hole himself and knew how long it took to get out. Well, not this particular hole, per se. Guilt was Jemma's personal prison cell; insecurity had been his. Still, whatever lurked in the shadows at the bottom, a hole was still a hole, and Fitz knew that there was no way out except scrabbling in the dirt until one could see the light.

"Anyway," he went on, as he grabbed her desk chair and drew it towards one corner of her room, "like I said, we just need to make this place look a little more festive so that your parents don't worry too much about you.” He stood up on the chair and proceeded to drape a cable of snowflake-shaped lights across the top of the wall, fixing them with adhesive strips. “Because when your parents worry about you, guess who they call?" he said.

Jemma allowed herself a wry smile at that. "I'm sorry, Fitz..." she began.

"Ah ah ah ah!" he admonished her sharply. "What did I tell you about that?"

Jemma inhaled deeply and let it out. "No more saying I'm sorry," she chanted tonelessly.

"Not about anything," he replied. "I don't want to hear that word again. I listened to you say it over and over again, in between sobs, for three days straight so I'd be quite happy not to hear it again for a very long time."

Jemma chewed her lip and decided to change the subject. He was being unbearably kind again and it was making her angry because she knew she wasn't worth one atom of this wonderful man and his huge heart. But it seemed to upset him whenever she said that, so the least she could do for him was not say it anymore. In an effort to change the subject, she leant over the side of the bed and peered into the bags of decorations.

"Bloody hell, Fitz! You're not planning to put all those decorations in here, are you? Are we trying to make my parents to think I live in Father Christmas's grotto?!"

"Better say 'Santa', Jemma, so the Americans know who you're talking about," Fitz said with a grin. "And no, all those decorations are not just for your room. We're going to decorate the base as well. Hunter's bringing in the tree as we speak."

"What _is_ this?" Jemma said. The amusement in her tone didn't escape Fitz's notice and he smiled to himself as he fixed the lights to the wall above her bed. "Are you and Hunter celebrating your first Christmas together?” she teased him. “That is adorable! Have you two posed for your Christmas card yet?"

"Ha ha ha," Fitz responded in as sarcastic a tone as he could muster, in order to hide his delight at the normality of this conversation. "No, we just thought that since we were getting the decorations for your room, we might as well go the whole hog..." He stopped himself suddenly, blushing furiously as the memory of Hunter’s favourite insult for the man Jemma was currently grieving came to mind. "I mean...you know...we might as well...go all out, as it were, and decorate the whole base." He noticed her obvious confusion at why he had just become so flustered over the use of a commonplace saying and turned his face away from her. He dropped down off the chair, busying himself with rooting about in the bags. "There is one other thing," he said into the bag, grimacing with nervousness as he prepared himself to broach a delicate subject.

"What is it?" Jemma asked suspiciously.

Fitz turned back to face her, focusing on unfurling the plastic garland of holly he had just fished out of his stash of purchases. "Hunter was saying he'd like really like to have a traditional Christmas dinner this year. He hasn't had one in years, apparently, and it got me thinking that neither have we really. I mean, the last time we had Christmas dinner was three years ago in your mum and dad's house, before we went up to my mum's for Hogmanay."

"Fitz?" Jemma asked in a warning tone. "Is this your way of asking me to cook Christmas dinner for you and Hunter?"

"No, absolutely not!" Fitz spluttered. "I wouldn't dream of asking you to cook for us. And obviously, it's for you as well, Jemma. If you want, I mean. No pressure, if you don't want to join us for dinner. Or I can bring you some to your room. No," he continued, "we're going to do the cooking. Me and Hunter."

"You are?" Jemma raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"Well, yes, except..."

"Except what?"

"Well, we kind of need you to tell us what to do," he said with a sheepish grin.

Jemma sighed. "You are joking, Fitz? Do you have any idea what a huge operation it is cooking Christmas dinner? I mean, I take it you want turkey, yes?"

Fitz nodded. "Yes, cooked in bacon strips. And a ham."

"Right," Jemma continued, "so you have turkey and ham, and stuffing, and roast potatoes and roast parsnips and carrots and Brussels sprouts..."

"And kilted chipolatas," Fitz interrupted excitedly.

Jemma nodded. “We call them pigs in blankets in England. And we’ll have to have bread sauce..."

"Actually," Fitz said, screwing up his face, "Hunter wants gravy instead of bread sauce."

"You have to have bread sauce, Fitz!" Jemma argued. "It's traditional."

"Well, we'll have both then," Fitz reasoned.

"Both?" Jemma replied, as she got up off the bed and walked towards him, taking the holly garland out of his hand. She walked back towards her bed and proceeded to wind it through her bed rail. "So you want gravy and bread sauce..."

"No, _you_ want bread sauce," Fitz interrupted her, as he delved back into the bag, producing a miniature Christmas tree which he sat on Jemma's desk.

"Gravy _and_ bread sauce," Jemma continued. "That's going to be a hell of a lot of work. It's probably better if I do it..."

"No, Jemma, that's too much stress for you," he argued. "We'll do the cooking...we just need instructions."

Jemma thought about this for a moment. The part of her that liked to be in control was sorely tempted to ban them both from the kitchen and cook the whole thing herself, but Fitz was right - in her current mental state, it might just get too much for her. "Okay, I'll do the prep work and leave you two to do the actual cooking. However, I'll expect you to follow my instructions exactly... and I mean, exactly, Fitz. And I'll need to check the turkey and the roast potatoes - they need a lot of attention."

Fitz hid his face so she wouldn't see him grin. "Whatever you say, Jemma," he replied meekly.

"We'll need a plan," Jemma mused, "as the timing of everything needs to be very precise. We should make mash as well as the roasties. And we'll need a dessert. I wonder if there's anywhere we can get Christmas pudding here? I'll have to make brandy butter of course..."

Fitz shook his head almost violently. "Nobody likes Christmas pudding, Jemma. It's one of those things that people get because it's traditional, but nobody actually eats it. Like Christmas cake as well." He shuddered.

"I like Christmas cake!" Jemma protested. "And I do like Christmas pudding as well," she added with a noticeable lack of conviction.

Fitz raised an eyebrow. "Do you? Do you really like Christmas pudding or do you just like the idea of Christmas pudding?" he asked.

"But it's not really Christmas without a pudding," she argued. "With the little holly leaf on top, and the blue flame when you douse it in brandy and set it alight before you bring it to the table."

"Literally no-one does that, Jemma. They only do it on TV, in supermarket adverts."

"My family does it!"

"You forget that I know this story," Fitz countered. "Your dad did it once and burned his hand and your mum forbade him from ever doing it again."

Jemma opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again. She folded her arms and pouted. "Okay, what about a sherry trifle then? That's traditional."

Fitz cocked his head to one side as if considering this. "A Scotch trifle," he eventually said.

Jemma rolled her eyes. "Okay, we'll need to get Drambuie and sherry then. And maybe we should have some kind of chocolate dessert as well. And we'll need a starter. What about smoked salmon? Oh," she exclaimed before Fitz could answer, "we're going to have a mountain of food, aren't we? Which is good, because we really should invite the rest of the team as well. I take it Bobbi was invited anyway?"

"She was originally," Fitz began hesitantly, "as were Mack and Daisy, but they all wanted to make weird American things as well, like…” He paused and frowned as if trying to remember. “Yams and green bean casserole and pumpkin pie,” he continued, shaking his head in bewilderment at the idea, “and they kind of took over and started planning it and Hunter wasn't having it because he wants a proper British dinner, and he told them they weren't allowed to make anything and then he mentioned the Christmas crackers and the hats, and Bobbi and Mack said they weren't wearing paper hats, so he...kind of threw a bit of a strop and uninvited them." He shrugged. "I don't know, Hunter's being weirdly emotional about this whole Christmas thing."

"Oh." Jemma's hands stalled around the end of the garland she was attaching to her bed post and she stared fixedly at it.

Fitz wasn't sure what exactly but he knew that he'd said something wrong. His mind raked quickly over the conversation to find the culprit. Suddenly he realised how it must have seemed to her. "No, Jemma!" he exclaimed, spinning on his heel to face her, brandishing a stuffed snowman. "I didn't come to ask for your help or to invite you just because they've all pulled out! I mean, I was going to ask you anyway, you know that, don't you? I just wasn't sure you would want to, that's all. I wasn't sure if you'd be up to it yet. I was just asking everybody what they thought, and well...it kind of all got out of hand, and now it's like the bloody War of Independence again out there."

"It's okay, Fitz," she said, with a weak smile. "I do get why I wouldn't be anyone's first choice as a Christmas dinner guest at the moment."

"You're _my_ first choice!" he protested. "I don't even want to celebrate Christmas if you're not there! There's no point! I'm only doing it because it seems to mean so much to Hunter and I thought that maybe..." He sighed and fidgeted with the little scarf on the snowman's neck.

"You thought maybe what?" Jemma said softly, her eyes glittering.

"I thought maybe if I could maybe get you involved... I mean, you always loved Christmas, and you love cooking and you love being in charge...and I thought it might remind you of home as well..."

Jemma ducked her head and Fitz sighed.

"I'm not expecting Christmas dinner to just magically make everything go away or make you feel alright again, Jemma," he went on. "I just thought that it might...give you something else to think about for a little while. Make you feel..."

"Like a human being again?" Jemma asked with a little twist of her mouth. Fitz shrugged awkwardly. Jemma walked towards him and took the snowman out his hands, before moving to the dresser beside her bed and placing the snowman on top of it. "I like him," she pronounced with a smile as she surveyed him. "I think I shall call him..." She paused and turned back to Fitz. "What's a good snowman name?"

Fitz could only gaze in awe at the Christmas miracle that had occurred here in this red-brick room of an underground wartime base. _She was smiling_. This incredible woman who had quite literally been to hell and back, who had seen horrors most people couldn't conceive of, who had carried the weight of the world on her narrow shoulders until it had all but broken her, was _smiling_ at a cheap felt snowman stuffed with polyester fibre. He'd already known she was the bravest, strongest and most resilient human being in the world, but sometimes she amazed even him. He barely trusted himself to speak. He shrugged, in an attempt to be nonchalant. "Clive?"

The peal of laughter that filled the room may as well have been a choir of angels singing to his ears. "Clive! I love it! Clive it is. Oh!" she exclaimed excitedly. "Do you think we could find _The Snowman_ anywhere online to watch after dinner? I used to always watch that with my dad on Christmas Day."

"Hunter's already on it," Fitz said.

Jemma raised her eyebrows in surprise.

Fitz grinned. "Apparently, he used to watch it with his mum."

"Aww!” she cooed, with an adorable little scrunch of her nose. “Well, perhaps you’re right,” she continued. “Maybe it would be a good thing for everyone around here if we had a proper Christmas.”

"Yes, but mostly you,” Fitz warned her. “I don’t want you doing this because you think it’ll be good for everyone else. I only want you to do this because you want to.”

“I do,” she reassured him. “But if we’re going to do this then we're going to have to make some compromises with our American team-mates as well," she continued in a reproving tone. "After all, it is their Christmas too, and we are in their country, so we should honour their traditions whilst celebrating ours. There's no reason why we can't make our Christmas dinner and let them make whatever dishes they want to. Christmas is a time for people to come together, not fall apart. We should do something nice on Christmas Eve as well," she continued, as Fitz dipped back into the bag and lifted out a snow globe with Santa’s sleigh inside it. "We should hang up stockings for everyone, that'll be really cute. I'll make some mince pies and mulled wine for everyone."

"Ah, now you're just stepping into the great mulled wine versus egg nog debate," Fitz said in a sardonic tone as he set the snow globe on her dresser.

Jemma rolled her eyes. "Oh, for heaven’s sake! Really?!”

Fitz nodded. “We went at least three rounds on that last night.”

“Fine, we'll have both,” Jemma said in annoyance. “Oh! I know! We'll have snowballs! That’s a very traditional British Christmas drink, Hunter couldn’t say no to that, and Advocaat is basically egg-nog, isn't it?"

"Ugh, not snowballs," Fitz said with a shudder. "Not after that that Christmas party in your mum and dad's house when I drank so many I was sick."

"Yeah, I don't think the snowballs were the problem," Jemma said drily. "I think it was much more likely that it was the bottle of whisky that you and my dad drank between you that night."

"The whisky got me drunk," Fitz conceded. "But it was all that Advocaat that turned my stomach."

"I bet Bobbi and Daisy will like snowballs anyway," Jemma went on. “If they like egg-nog and lemonade they will."

“Remember that lemonade means a different thing here though,” Fitz reminded her.

“I know, I’ll use Sprite and just forgo the squeeze of lime juice,” Jemma replied absently. “And I'll make Christmas cookies as well as the mince pies, in case people don't like the mince pies."

"Where are you going to get the mincemeat?" Fitz asked.

"I'll have to make it myself," Jemma replied. "I just need some dried fruit and spices and brandy and port. God, we’re going to need a lot of alcohol, aren’t we?” she sighed."

"Are you sure this isn't all going to be too much work for you, Jemma?" Fitz asked in concern. "I really don't want you to overdo it."

"It'll be fine," she replied, "I'll make the desserts the night before and I'll make the pies and the cookies in the days running up to it. It’ll actually be really nice to have something to focus on again," Jemma replied. "Especially something pleasant that people will enjoy."

Fitz raised an eyebrow. "Like mince pies? You're going to have to explain to people that they’re not actually meat," Fitz said. "Although to be honest,” he said with a grimace, “they might prefer them if they were."

"What have you got against traditional Christmas desserts?" Jemma asked indignantly.

"They're all just dried fruit and cinnamon and nutmeg," Fitz complained. "Although, I have absolutely nothing against a good old-fashioned chocolate Yule log. Can you make one of those?"

Jemma screwed up her face. "I'll try. The sponge and the buttercream and the chocolate icing are all easy enough, it's rolling up the sponge into that spiral shape without it breaking that's the tricky part. Actually, you could probably do that part, you have good hands for such delicate work."

"Okay, but listen," Fitz said seriously, "just don't get caught up in wanting everything to be perfect, okay? It's not about that, and you'll start getting really stressed if everything is not exactly how you want it to be. Hunter's gone down that road already," he muttered almost to himself.

"He has?” Jemma asked. She tutted sympathetically as she walked across the room to where he had left the bags sitting on her floor and plunged her hand into one of them to pull out more decorations. “I think Hunter's feeling a little homesick. And nostalgic obviously."

"Yeah," Fitz said. "Apparently Christmas does that to people."

Jemma halted with her hand in the bag and looked blankly at him, as if this thought had never occurred to her. "Do you ever feel homesick at Christmas?" she asked him. As she said this, her hand closed around a small square box inside the bag. Curious, she pulled it out to examine it. It looked like a box for jewelry, but she'd never known Fitz to buy jewelry for anyone.

"I haven't lived with my mum since I was 17," he answered, as he moved towards her. "You're my..." He suddenly froze in horror as he saw the box in Jemma's hand.

"Is this for your mum?" she asked, opening it.

" _NOOOOOOOOO!_ " Fitz cried, as he dived towards her, grabbing the box out of her hand. As he snatched it, Jemma caught a glimpse of a beautifully wrought gold anchor pendant on a fine gold chain, with a delicate silver rope twisted around the shank of the anchor, and one small diamond inset into the crown. She stared at him in utter confusion.

Fitz sighed despairingly, his shoulders sinking as he proffered the box back to her. "Well, it's ruined now," he said gloomily, "so you might as well have it. It's for you, it's your Christmas present."

Jemma gasped loudly. Her jaw dropped and she clutched her chest. "Fitz!!" she breathed. "You got this for me?" She stared at him for a moment before taking the box from him, and gazing in wonder at the necklace. "Oh my god! I can't believe this, it's absolutely beautiful!" she sighed in awe. "It’s gorgeous, Fitz, thank you so much! But you honestly, honestly shouldn't have, this is too much!"

"Well, I was going to get you the same necklace you had, the one you lost on Maveth," he replied, rubbing his neck nervously. "I know your mum and dad bought that to you for your 21st, so I wanted to get you a replacement so you wouldn't have to explain what happened to it."

"Fitz!" Jemma whispered as the tears sprang up in her eyes. "That necklace was really expensive! You shouldn't..."

"No, I know, it's fine though," he interrupted. "What the hell else do I have to spend money on these days?" he said with an awkward chuckle. "But the thing is..." he sighed and gestured towards the box in Jemma's hand, "when I went to buy the rose necklace, I dunno...I just suddenly got this doubt over whether I should or not because, well, I thought it might be a reminder of...everything. Of Maveth and Will and..." He shrugged. "And then I read this little card about what the rose necklace signified. It said it symbolised the "bittersweet beauty of life". And I wasn't sure you really needed that reminder right now. Not the 'bitter' part anyway. So I asked the guy in the store if all the necklaces symbolised something. He said that some of them did, and I asked if he had anything that symbolised...well...hope."

The tears were now flowing silently down Jemma's cheeks and her bottom lip was trembling as she watched him. Fitz looked down at the floor in embarrassment and shuffled his feet as he continued his explanation.

"Because that's what I think you really need right now," he went on. "Hope. So the guy showed me a few different things. Apparently butterflies represent hope, because of the Pandora's box story, and swallows represent hope in Aesop's fables. And doves and rainbows represent hope in the Bible. So if you wanted, we could go back and get one of those instead, if you preferred, but...well, I liked the anchor one. That's also in the Bible, there's a quote about hope being the anchor of the soul, or something. And I know you don't believe in souls or in the Bible or anything, but..." He sighed and wrung his hands. "I liked the anchor, because I've always thought of you as being my anchor in a way," he said. "That's what I was about to say before you found the box, Jemma. I don't get homesick because you are my home. I was homesick while you were on Maveth, I was homesick when you were at Hydra - I was lost without you really. I'm not homesick when you're here. And I hope that you don't get homesick while I'm here."

Jemma clutched the box to her chest and shook her head in affirmation, too overcome to speak. Her tears dripped onto her t-shirt.

"So I wanted to get give you this anchor necklace to let you know that I can be your anchor too,” Fitz continued, “and that wherever you go, it will be a reminder of the fact that I'll always be with you...just like you said in the video you made on Maveth. Because you said...you said that talking to me gave you hope. And so this is to remind you to never lose that hope, because I'll always be there for you. No matter where you are, I'll always come for you."

Jemma was quietly sobbing now, staring at the necklace. "But I lost hope on Maveth," she hiccupped. "I gave up."

"You didn't lose hope," Fitz replied. "You just buried it in order to survive. Will lost hope. And he never got it back. That's why he stayed behind to let you get to the portal. I know, because I wanted to stay behind in the med pod for the same reason. I had no hope of getting out of there, but I thought I could at least make sure you did. But you were convinced we could both get out of there alive, and you did it, you got me to the surface. You had hope enough for both of us. I think when you saw my flare, your hope returned but Will's didn't. He'd been there so long, he still didn't believe he could get off that planet, but he was going to try his best to make sure you did. That's what I've been trying to tell you, Jemma - it's not your fault he died. It was the fault of the thing that killed him, it was Hydra for sending him there in the first place. But you gave his death _meaning_. It would have meant so much to him that his death would get you home and safe. Because that's how I felt in the pod. Not only that, but you gave his _life_ meaning for the last few months of it. Without you he would have died alone and terrified and out of his mind in that place, and nobody would ever have known what happened to him."

He had barely finished the sentence before she had closed the distance between them, flinging her arms around his neck and clinging to him the way she had clung to him when he got back from Maveth. "I left him there though," she sobbed. "I left him there to die because I needed to get to you. I would never have left you there, just like I couldn't leave you in that med pod. And that's the worst thing, that I know I would do the same thing again. I don't know what I would do without you, Fitz," she said into his neck. "You are my home too, you are my anchor, my hope, you always have been. And I m-m-messed it up!"

"You haven't messed it up," he hushed her. "That's what I keep trying to tell you. I'm still here, aren't? And I'm not going anywhere. Ever. I keep telling you, Jemma, and I know you don't believe me right now, but I'll keep saying it until you do - none of this is your fault. None of it."

She started to protest and he shushed her. "Don’t even mention Lash. Because the reason that he was there, the reason those Inhumans were there, was Hydra. Hydra was the reason you were there as well, the reason you had been tortured, the reason you were running for your life. They were responsible, Jemma, not you. They were responsible for everything that you’re blaming yourself for, which is why it is so ridiculous to me that you are putting these things on yourself. You know what matters to me more than having Christmas dinner or these decorations or anything like that this year? I would love to have one day where you don’t apologise or blame yourself for anything for the whole day. Just one day. Just one day where you put down all that weight you’re carrying and just relax and maybe even enjoy yourself. Just eat food and wear a Christmas hat and tell those stupid jokes you get inside crackers, and talk to your mum and dad. I would give anything to have that this Christmas, Jemma, I really would.”

She pulled back from him and inhaled a shaky breath as she wiped at her face. “Okay,” she whispered as she gazed into his eyes. “I can do that. I promise.” With a little smile, she glanced down at the box in her hands. “And I love this necklace, Fitz. I really do, so much. It’s so beautiful and I love what it means even more. Can I put it on now?”

He nodded. “Of course,” he replied. Her hands trembled as she lifted the necklace out of the box. Gently, he took it from her and undid the clasp, while she turned around, pulling her hair out of the way. He fastened it around her neck and she crossed the room to her mirror to examine it.

“Oh, Fitz, it’s gorgeous,” she cried. “I love it!” She ran back towards him and flung her arms around his neck again. “I love _you_ ,” she murmured into his ear. “So much.”

His heart felt like it had stopped for a minute, but when it resumed it was thumping so hard, the energy was heating his insides. A broad smile spread over his face before he could help himself, and he hugged her tighter to him, barely able to contain the happiness that was vibrating in every cell of his body. “I love you,” he responded. “More than anything.”

“ _FIIIIIIITTTTZZZZ!!!!!_ ” The distant, angry cry came from down the hall, the London accent just discernible among the echoes. Fitz sighed. Trust him to ruin the moment.

“I think the tree’s already gotten the better of Hunter,” he said, stroking her arm as he let her go. “I’m going to need to go and help him out.”

“Can I…can I help?” Jemma asked timidly.

“Do you want to?” Fitz asked in surprise.

She nodded. “I would like to, yes.” She smiled and shrugged. “I guess I’m just suddenly feeling very Christmassey.”

Fitz grinned back at her and held out his hand. She took it, and beaming shyly at each other, they walked towards the door.

“Oh, wait!” Jemma said, stopping suddenly. “Do you want your present now, since you’ve already had to give me mine?”

Fitz blinked. “You have a present for me? You haven’t left this room in weeks!”

Jemma shifted awkwardly. “I know. It was…I bought it last year…to give it to you for Christmas…but we weren’t speaking…so…”

Fitz dropped his head in shame. “I didn’t give you anything. God, I’m so sorry, Jemma. I was feeling so wounded and full of self-pity and it never occurred to me that you would get me anything or even that you would want anything from me. If anyone has anything to be guilty about, it’s me and the way that I behaved last year.”

“No, no, no,” Jemma cried, clutching his arm. “No, Fitz. You have nothing to feel guilty about. You had every right to be hurt and angry with me, you didn’t know why I left, and you had enough to worry about last year, without buying Christmas presents. We didn’t even celebrate Christmas last year, everything was so crazy and Trip had died and…” she sighed. “Look,” she said, touching the pendant around her neck, “you said this anchor represented hope right?” Fitz nodded. “And hope is about the future. So it’s a new beginning, a fresh start for both of us. And if I am not allowed to feel guilty this Christmas, then neither are you,” she said, bumping his arm gently. “Deal?”

“Deal,” he replied with a warm smile. She stood up on her tiptoes then and kissed him softly on the lips. As she pulled back, she saw his head following her lips, before his eyes fluttered open, and she smiled as he gazed softly at her. For a second she thought he was about to lean in for another kiss, and her stomach fluttered in anticipation. Then Fitz’s phone beeped, startling them both. Fitz sighed as he pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at it.

“Hunter,” he said simply, waving the phone at her. “He’s having a meltdown. Apparently Bobbi hates the decorations he bought for the tree. He got these ones that he said reminded him of Quality Street wrappers.”

“Mmmm, Quality Street,” Jemma hummed in appreciation. “Is your mum going to send us another tin this year?”

“I hope she sends a bigger one this time,” Fitz complained. “Hunter ate them all last year. He finished all the purple ones that you left for me, and he ate all the strawberry ones that I always leave for you.”

“Maybe you should ask her to send two tins, so that you can give one to Hunter,” Jemma suggested. “He obviously likes them a lot if they’re his inspiration for decorating the tree. Although, I do like that idea,” she mused. “So his decorations are all jewel tones?” she asked.

“If you say so,” Fitz replied with a shrug. “Except apparently Daisy and Bobbi have these silver and gold decorations they want to put on the tree, and so now hostilities have resumed.”

“Surely metallic and jewel tones would work together though,” Jemma reasoned.

“Possibly - although, it's a Christmas tree, so who cares - but there’s some sort of argument over lights,” Fitz replied as he studied his phone. “I’m trying to work out what’s going on in between Hunter’s expletives. Also he gets really Cockney of a sudden when he’s angry, even when he’s texting, did you ever notice that?”

“And when he’s drunk,” Jemma agreed with a nod.

“He’s not even from the East End,” Fitz said. “Ah! Hunter bought multi-coloured lights for the tree, and Bobbi and Daisy are insisting on white lights,” he declared in realization as he deciphered Hunter’s text.

“Oh, surely this can be resolved,” Jemma said, rolling her eyes. “Why not put one set on the tree and hang the other somewhere else?”

“Because that’s just too much like common sense, Jemma,” Fitz replied. “Give me a second here.” He began texting. “Sit – down – and – have – a – beer,” he sounded out as he typed. “And – we’ll – be – there – in – a – minute.”

"So do you want your present now or not?" Jemma asked. "It's actually wrapped and everything, it's been in the back of my wardrobe for over a year now."

"No, give it to me on Christmas Day," Fitz decided. "I'm going to have to get something else for you as well, to give to you then."

"Don't you dare!" Jemma exclaimed, touching her necklace. "This is the best present I've ever received, I don't need anything else."

"But now I won't have anything to give you on Christmas Day," he complained.

"I will have you on Christmas Day," she replied, "that's all that I need."

He blushed and beamed at her. “That’s sweet,” he said, as he scratched his neck. "But maybe, just to be fair, you should give me my present before then, so that neither one of us gets a present on Christmas Day."

"Okay,” she said excitedly, going to her wardrobe.

Fitz frowned as he heard a lot of heaving and banging and puffing and even some swearing on Jemma’s part, before she emerged hauling a huge box wrapped in gold paper.

“Bloody hell, Jemma,” he exclaimed as he rushed to take it off her. “What the hell is that thing?”

“Open it and you’ll see,” she said, wiping her brow. Fitz began tearing off the paper, and Jemma smiled as she saw his eyes register what was written on the box.

“An Orion Skyquest XT10!” he cried in excitement. He looked at her in amazement. “You got me a telescope!”

“Well, you’ve only wanted one since you were in the Academy,” she said. “And I know that you are more than capable of making one of these yourself, but you’ve never had the time, so I thought I would get one for you.”

“But these are so expensive,” he said with a frown.

“No more expensive than this necklace,” she replied as she played with it.

“But you got me this last year, when we weren’t…when I wasn’t…” Fitz stood up straight and stared at her.

She shrugged awkwardly. “Well, yeah, it was kind of…well, I bought it for both of us really,” she explained. “Astronomy was always a passion that we both shared that we never really got time for, and last year…I was thinking that maybe…it could be something that we could do together…that could help us to repair our relationship, get back to where we were.”

Fitz clutched the back of his neck, looking distraught. “Oh, god, Jemma, I’m so sorry,” he said.

“Hey, we said we weren’t going to do that, remember?” she responded. She touched her necklace again. “A new beginning,okay?”

Fitz nodded. “Maybe…in that case…we could take this up to the roof tonight?” he asked as he played with the edge of the box. “We could take some blankets up and some hot chocolate?”

Jemma smiled warmly. “That would be lovely. I would like that very much.”

“It wouldn’t remind you of…” Fitz stared at the box as he picked at it. “Well…Will?”

Jemma shook her head emphatically. “No. Watching stars for their own sake with the person I care most about in the universe, while drinking hot chocolate, is going to be a lovely, romantic thing and is definitely not going to remind me of frantically trying to plot where a portal is going to open so that I can get the hell off a desert planet. It’s much more likely to remind me of stargazing with my dad as a kid, when I felt safe and…loved.”

Fitz looked at her intently. “You are, you know.”

She let out a shaky breath and nodded, touching her necklace again. The thought occurred to Fitz that it had already become a new little tic of hers, like she was touching it for reassurance.

“And you are, too,” she replied. “For what it’s worth…I hope you know that.”

“ _For what it’s worth_ …!” He barked out a laugh at that, shaking his head in wonder. “It’s only worth absolutely everything in the world to me!” He tilted his head to one side and regarded at her as she dropped her head awkwardly. “Why would you think it wouldn’t be worth anything to me that you love me?” He glanced at the telescope beneath his hand and a realization hit him. “You didn’t give me that telescope last year because you thought I wouldn’t want it, didn’t you? That I wouldn’t want a present from you?”

She looked up at him and nodded. “This whole ‘ _I don’t deserve you_ ’ thing,” he went on, “that goes back to before Maveth and Will, doesn’t it? Back to you leaving for Hydra?”

She looked at him hesitantly and bit her lip.

Fitz looked at her questioningly and then almost gasped as a thought occurred to him. “Back to the med pod?” he asked incredulously.

“You gave me the oxygen,” she replied quietly. “You almost died because of me. You got brain damage because of me.”

“ _I’m alive because of you!_ ” he exclaimed in astonishment. “I almost died and got brain damage because of Ward! Remember?! The guy who actually dropped us out of the plane?! And he was Hydra as well, so there you go taking credit for everything they do again. Are you secretly running Hydra that you feel such guilt over all their actions?! My god, Jemma! I don’t know where you got the idea that you are responsible for everything that goes wrong in the world, but it’s entirely false and entirely irrational and it’s going to destroy you. This guilt you feel has already driven a wedge between us for so long, so please,” he pleaded with her as he took her hand in his, “don’t let it do that anymore. You’re so fixated on what you deserve or don’t deserve – I can definitely tell you that you don’t deserve to feel like this. However, you do deserve to be happy.”

The tears were flowing down her face once more and she wiped at them with her free hand, before clutching her necklace again.

“At the very least,” he said, dropping his voice, “after everything you’ve been through, you deserve a nice Christmas. So you have to promise me that you’re going to try your best to have one. I mean, we’re bowing to all of Hunter’s demands here, what about yours? What kind of Christmas would you like? What do you want to do?”

“What about mine, what about yours??” Jemma asked in indignation. “What kind of Christmas do you want?”

Fitz shrugged. “I told you before, Christmas was never really a huge thing in our house. My mum didn’t even really celebrate Christmas when she was growing up, Hogmanay was always the big event in Scotland. Christmas is a lot more popular now but it’s still not like it is in England, where it’s like the biggest day of the year. I mean it when I say that all I really want is for you to be happy, even for just one day. And a nice dinner would be good as well,” he added.

“Well, we can definitely organize that,” Jemma said with a little chuckle, as she wiped away the traces of her tears. “Fitz, before you came into this room, I honestly hadn’t given Christmas a second thought. I hadn’t entertained the idea of celebrating it at all. But then you came with these decorations and planning a dinner and memories of Christmases past and then this…” She touched the necklace again, and shook her head as if it were all too much. “I’m already having the best Christmas ever, because I have someone in my life who wants to bring Christmas to me, who buys me beautiful, symbolic presents, and decorates my room and wants me to wear a paper crown when I Skype my parents so that they won’t worry about me. I have someone who does all of that for me, even when I’m too busy wallowing in self-pity to care what season it is.”

“You’re not wallowing in self-pity,” Fitz chided her gently, as he balanced the telescope against the end of her bed so that he could wrap his arms around her. “Can you at least give yourself time to heal without flagellating yourself for not having full mental health? Nobody on earth would expect you to be okay after everything that’s happened to you – apart from you of course.”

“I‘ll try. I’ll get there, Fitz,” she sighed. “It’s difficult…but you should know that you are really helping. A lot. And I can’t thank you enough for that. I honestly don’t know how to even express how I feel about everything that you’ve done for me.” Fitz shook his head as if to protest, but she stopped him by placing a hand on his chest. “But I’ll figure that out too. In the meantime, I think that maybe you and I should decorate the tree, while we send Hunter and Bobbi out to buy all the ingredients to make mulled wine. We’ll have egg-nog on Christmas Eve, but we can have mulled wine tonight. You and I will take it up to the roof with us, and Hunter and Bobbi can drink some beside the tree that has both of their decorations on it, and hopefully he’ll remember that disagreements over Christmas are part and parcel of being a family, and he probably didn’t always like everything that his mum did at Christmas.” She laughed then. “It’s no wonder he and Bobbi got divorced if he un-invites her to Christmas dinner in her own home, just because they disagree over the menu!”

Fitz rolled his eyes. “Tell me about,” he replied. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of mediation I’ve had to do over the past couple of days. I’m practically a qualified marriage counsellor by now. Come on then,” he said, as he held out his hand to her. “We’ll go and rescue him from the tree dilemma.”

They crossed the room and Fitz opened the door, holding it for Jemma to go through. As they did, they could hear the opening bars and ravaged vocals of a very familiar song that was clearly being played much too loudly, drifting down the corridor towards them.

“Oh no,” Fitz groaned. “It’s worse than I thought.”

“Is that… ‘Fairytale of New York’?” Jemma asked in trepidation.

Fitz nodded. “He downloaded it on iTunes. This is all-out warfare on the Christmas front. We need to go intervene right now.”

“He’ll be playing Slade and Wizzard next,” Jemma joked. Fitz gave her a look. “Oh no,” she exclaimed in horror, as she stared at him. “He hasn’t downloaded those as well, has he?”

“ _Now That’s What I Call Christmas_ ,” Fitz replied in a defeated tone.

“No!” Jemma gasped. “Well, what are we waiting here for?! Let’s get out there right away before he plays it all!”


	2. Glossary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a glossary (with some pictures!) of some of the British traditions I referenced in the fic. As I say, I don't know how common any of these are in other countries, but at least one person has told me in the comments that they didn't understand most of the references, so I thought I'd post this to help people out!

**Christmas crackers** – a cardboard tube, wrapped in brightly coloured paper and twisted at both ends to look like an elongated sweet/candy. These are placed on the dinner table at Christmas, and the idea is for two people to pull each end of the cracker so that it breaks open. Each cracker has a strip inside it, similar to those inside a cap gun, which snap in half with a ‘crack’ when pulled. The idea traditionally was that whoever got the biggest end of the cracker got to keep the prize inside, but nowadays, it’s usually the practice that everyone gets their own cracker and you get to keep the ‘prize’ whether you get the biggest half or not. The prize pretty much always consists of a brightly coloured paper crown, which you are supposed to then wear during the meal, a crap plastic toy (although high-end ‘luxury’ crackers these days usually have some sort of ‘useful’ present, like a mini screwdriver or a compass or nail scissors), and a piece of paper with either a really cheesy joke, a riddle or a piece of trivia on it. The idea is for everyone to read theirs aloud at the table. 

**Father Christmas** – nowadays the English name for Santa Claus, although he was originally an older, separate entity from English folklore, before he was merged with Saint Nicholas.

**Hogmanay** – a Scottish feast day celebrating the last day of the year, and nowadays synonymous with New Year’s Eve. There are many traditions associated with it, none of which can be easily explained here, but Googling it makes for fascinating reading! Since the Presbyterian Church in Scotland, which was historically the national church, discouraged the celebration of Christmas right up until the mid-20th century, Hogmanay remains the biggest celebration in the Scottish calendar.

**Christmas pudding** \- a boiled pudding composed of dried fruits, egg and suet, sometimes moistened by treacle or molasses and flavoured with cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, ginger, and other spices. The pudding is aged for a long time, and regularly doused with alcohol to preserve it. It is supposed to be doused in brandy and set alight before being brought to the table – I don’t know how many people actually do this, but the story Fitz tells of the Christmas pudding related disaster in the Simmons’ household actually happened in my family! Christmas pudding is traditionally served with brandy butter, which is a sauce made from butter, sugar, water and brandy. 

  **Christmas cake** – a fruit cake covered in marzipan and white icing, and usually decorated with plastic fir trees and snowmen and the like. Like the pudding, it is also aged and kept moist with the addition of alcohol, usually whisky. 

  **Sherry trifle** – a traditional Christmas dessert with sherry-soaked sponge, fruit, custard and whipped cream.

**Scotch trifle** – traditional Scottish dessert usually served on Burns’ Night. Much the same as above, except with the addition of Drambuie as well as the sherry, and usually containing Scottish raspberries or raspberry jam as well.

**_The Snowman_** – an animated film based on a children’s book without words, by Raymond Briggs. The film has no dialogue but is set to music, and it tells the story of a snowman who comes to life and takes a little boy on an adventure. It is shown on TV in Britain on Christmas Day every year. 

**Mince pies** – a sweet mini pie filled with ‘mincemeat’ - a mixture of dried fruit, alcohol and spices. It’s called mincemeat because it did used to contain meat in the past, but hasn’t done since the 19th century. They are traditionally served at Christmas. 

**Mulled wine** – Red wine or port, heated with spices like cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg or ginger and slices of citrus fruit and sugar. Sometimes brandy or orange liqueur are added as well. Traditionally served at Christmas time.

**Snowballs** – a Christmas cocktail made from Advocaat, lemonade and a squeeze of lime juice. In Britain, the term ‘lemonade’ usually refers to a clear, carbonated sweetened soft drink with a lemon flavour.

**Quality Street** – a British brand of confectionary, consisting of a variety of chocolates and toffees, individually wrapped in bright, jewel-coloured paper and sold in boxes or tins. Although available all year round, tins of Quality Street are very commonly given as gifts at Christmas, and are therefore very much associated with Christmas, since every household usually has at least one of them! The 'purple ones' Fitz refers to are chocolates with a caramel filling and a whole hazelnut in the centre. They're so popular that they're also sold separately, and are just referred to as 'the Purple One.'

**‘Fairytale of New York’** – the most popular Christmas song in the British Isles, by The Pogues and Kirsty McColl. The lyrics are a conversation between a drunken Irish-American couple living in New York, and if ever there was a song designed to be sung along to very loudly whilst drunk, this is it.

**Slade** – British 70s glam rock band, who released one of the most popular British songs ever, ‘It’s Christmas’.

**Wizzard** – another British 70s glam rock band, who release another one of the most popular British songs ever, ‘I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday’. Both of these songs are played relentlessly in shops and pretty much everywhere you go in Britain every December.

**_Now That’s What I Call Christmas_** – popular British compilation CD of Christmas songs. They release a new version every year, and yet each one has pretty much all the same songs. The two above songs are always on it, as well as a number of other British Christmas hits which it seems to be obligatory to play every Christmas.


End file.
